Bryan Smith

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No Country for Ol...
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The River of Doub...
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The Remains of th...
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by Kazuo Ishiguro (Goodreads Author)
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Bob Marley
“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She's not perfect—you aren't either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break—her heart. So don't hurt her, don't change her, don't analyze and don't expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she's not there.”
Bob Marley

Ned Vizzini
“Its so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself. That's above and beyond everything else, and it's not a mental complaint-it's a physical thing, like it's physically hard to open your mouth and make the words come out. They don't come out smooth and in conjunction with your brain the way normal people's words do; they come out in chunks as if from a crushed-ice dispenser; you stumble on them as they gather behind your lower lip. So you just keep quiet.”
Ned Vizzini, It's Kind of a Funny Story

Mia Asher
“Love is never supposed to hurt. Love is supposed to heal, to be your haven from misery, to make living fucking worthwhile.”
Mia Asher, Arsen: A Broken Love Story

“Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don't kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive. When somebody dies after a long illness, people are apt to say, with a note of approval, "He fought so hard." And they are inclined to think, about a suicide, that no fight was involved, that somebody simply gave up. This is quite wrong.”
Sally Brampton, Shoot the Damn Dog: A Memoir of Depression

Pablo Neruda
“Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. ”
Pablo Neruda

year in books
Sam Nie...
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Boo-Dre...
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Kelsey ...
308 books | 20 friends

Alix
0 books | 48 friends

Catheri...
199 books | 104 friends

Grace
127 books | 141 friends

Anneke ...
44 books | 52 friends

Emily D...
1 book | 102 friends

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